


As Yet Unsaid

by theroseofthereach



Series: A Sign That Someone Loves Me [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Unadulterated Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroseofthereach/pseuds/theroseofthereach
Summary: Frederick spends a Saturday morning in bed, attempting his crossword puzzle while you sleep next to him. Unfortunately, he gets a little distracted.
Relationships: Dr. Frederick Chilton/Reader
Series: A Sign That Someone Loves Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123127
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	As Yet Unsaid

The first time that Frederick had gone to view the property, tucked away at the end of Montgomery Avenue, he had known that it was the one for him.

Not just because of the location- close enough to Baltimore that he didn’t have far to travel for work, or social events in the city, but far enough away that a lush, verdant wall of foliage cut the property off from any hustle and bustle.

Nor had the lure been in the wine cellar tucked discreetly on the lower level, or the elegant sweep of the spiral staircase, though he greatly appreciated both features. The thing that had drawn Fred the most to the house he now occupied had been the windows.

There truly was an abundance of windows, allowing sunlight to pour in. After spending so much of his day at the hospital, with its dim hallways, and thrumming fluorescent lights that gave him headaches and made his eyes hurt, coming home to so much natural light made it easier to separate his home from his work.

Fred was particularly thankful for the windows that morning. He had woken slowly, still half asleep as he reluctantly slid out of bed in search of coffee. It was only when he had returned, cup in one hand and New York Times tucked under his arm, and pulled the curtains back that he realised how pretty you looked in the late morning light.

You were still fast asleep, still lying on your side from where Fred had been curled around you as you slept. You were bathed in the sunlight that poured through the windows, looking so peaceful and relaxed that Fred was half-tempted to abandon the paper for now and wrap himself around you to try and go back to sleep again.

Instead, he slides into bed beside you, taking a sip of his coffee before setting it on his bedside table. Your back is to him, your bare shoulder just peeking out from beneath the covers. His eyes lingered, all too aware that you were naked under the sheets, claiming that he ran too hot for you to want to put pyjamas on. 

Fred sets the paper in his lap, and leans forward carefully until his lips just barely brush your shoulder. He still hasn’t quite gotten used to waking up to you, to spending whole weekends with you, to your presence adding much needed warmth to his house. His home. 

When he straightens up again, he plucks the Montblanc pen off his bedside table and flips straight to the crossword. His weekends almost always start with coffee and the crossword, except on the rare occasions that you wake up before him and are in the mood for something less staid and more sportive to start your Saturday with. 

While you sleep steadily on, Fred fills in the blank squares, occasionally tapping the pen thoughtfully against his lips while he considers his next move. Some of the answers come easily- really, who doesn’t know the name of the estate in Gone With the Wind?- while some require a little more thought. 

It’s not until he gets to seven down that he gets stuck. 

The coffee is almost all gone, and were he not so comfortable, he’d consider getting up to fetch another cup. He has one letter, an ‘A’ in the penultimate square, but none of the words he can think of have an ‘A’ in that place. 

Even after he’s put it aside, and swept through a dozen other clues, his eyes keep returning to the empty squares of seven down. It frustrates his perfectionism to leave it blank, and he’s far too proud to look up the answer on his phone. 

You shift in your sleep beside him, and Fred finds himself staring at the curve of your bare shoulder as though the clue he’s seeking might be hidden on there somewhere. Without thinking, he rests the very tips of his fingers against your shoulder blade, almost as if to convince himself that you’re really here, tucked into bed with him. 

He had more or less resigned himself to bachelorhood, yet you had been a very welcome interruption. If having you here spending the weekend with him and sleeping beside him, means he can’t mutter to himself or listen to Handel while he does the crossword, he’ll consider it a very small price to pay. 

When Fred pulls his fingers away, he realises he had still been holding his pen. A little black line, barely a half inch long, has been left against the smooth skin of your shoulder by the accidental slip of his pen.

He glances back at the crossword, at the clue he’s wrestling with, before looking back at you. Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, he leans forward and gently turns the inked line on your back into a love heart.

The psychiatrist in Frederick wants to examine the gesture, to pull it apart and dissect it; is he drawing on you as a desire to mark you? Has he chosen a heart because he knows he loves you, but he’s reluctant to admit it to you just yet? The frustrated crossword enthusiast in him puts it down to idle doodling while he tries to figure out the elusive seven down. 

Beside the first, he finds himself adding another heart, slightly smaller this time. He freezes when you shift, the nib of the pen still pressed at the point of the heart. To his relief, you’re not waking up yet; just getting comfortable, your legs bumping against his under the sheets as you rearrange yourself a little. 

He waits a few minutes, just to confirm that you’re still asleep, and then goes back to his doodling. Part of him is tempted to attempt an anatomically correct heart, a stark reminder of his undergrad days at Harvard, copying the diagram out of a page of Grey’s. He resists the urge- you might not be best pleased by the little heart-shaped doodles when you wake, much less by an anatomically correct one.

Seven down still eludes him, the word he’s looking for right on the tip of his tongue. If you were awake, he’d ask you. He knows he’s seen it recently, and that only frustrates him more. 

By the time it comes to him, you have a little constellation across your shoulder blade, a whorl of carefully inked love hearts outlined on your skin. Frederick can’t help himself; he bows his head again to press his lips against your shoulder. 

He nuzzles a little closer, drawn in irrepressibly by how good you smell. Something unmistakably you, it lingers on his sheets long after you’ve left and finds him pressing his face against the pillow you’d used when you’re unable to spend the night. It’s only accented by your perfume, and the sweet smelling shampoo you use- 

Frederick sits bolt upright in bed, scrambling for the paper that he had let go of to kiss you. You stir sleepily beside him, but he’s too busy scribbling in the answer to notice. 

“Fred?” You ask, your voice still thick with sleep as you turn slightly to face him. 

“Argan! I knew I’d seen it somewhere. _‘An evergreen tree known for its oil’_.” He crows, more to himself than to explain anything to you. With seven down filled in at last, he can finally put down a definite answer for five across, and more solutions slot into place.  
You roll your eyes affectionately at him once you realise his excitement was due to a crossword clue. 

“I’m going downstairs to grab a drink, and then shall we watch TV in bed for a bit?” You ask, trying to stifle a yawn. One of Fred’s luxurious robes is hanging off the back of the bedroom door, and you go to slip it off the hook. 

“Whatever you like.” Fred beams at you, though you’re sure it’s more to do with his glee at finishing the puzzle- in ink, no less- than anything you’ve done. As you tug on the robe, you happen to catch a glance of yourself in the mirror, and you freeze when you spot what looks like a dark smudge by your shoulder. 

Frowning, you step closer to the mirror for a better look, only to realise that it’s not a smudge at all. While you slept, Frederick has drawn love hearts across your shoulder. You peek up at him, but he’s still engrossed in the paper; he hasn’t noticed that you’ve spotted them. 

Your stomach swoops at the sweetness of the gesture. Frederick had undoubtedly come across as an asshole when you had first met him; you were glad you had decided to press past that awkward first impression. Deciding not to draw his attention to it, you smile to yourself as you slip out of the room, still covered in the love hearts Fred had left behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Come find me on Tumblr at pascalispretty


End file.
